


Please Don't Let Me Go

by TreacherousGnome



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate episode 11, Fights, Lack of Communication, M/M, canon compliant up until episode 11
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-17
Updated: 2017-01-17
Packaged: 2018-09-18 02:35:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9362231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TreacherousGnome/pseuds/TreacherousGnome
Summary: Victor and Yuuri show their love through rehearsals and performances.They say it in smiles and gestures.But they've never been good at words.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I meant to get this out before Episode 12 aired, but of course, I was busy Dying from finals and forgot for a month or so, so... my bad? Also this marks the first fic I've finished and published for a fandom other than Homestuck, so I hope you enjoy~

_“After the Final, we should end this.”_

            That was what Yuuri had just said to him, and now a deafening silence hung between the two as Victor tried to process it. The “Final” of course, was the Grand Prix, the annual figure skating competition Yuuri had worked all season to qualify for. The one that would be over tomorrow.

            “End… what?” He was terrified to ask. “Me coaching you?”

            They had been winding down for the evening in their Barcelona hotel room, and until then, the conversation had mostly been light. Yuuri had already changed into pajamas, and Victor, awkwardly, was in a bathrobe, fresh from the shower. This conversation had dropped like a bombshell.

            “No.” Yuuri shook his head.

            In his chest, he could swear his heart had fallen still. That was the answer he’d been dreading. He slumped against the window in shock.

            Words stopped coming, hell, thoughts stopped forming; Victor was used to always having something to say, some playful comeback even (or even _especially_ ) when he couldn’t feel a thing, but the shock had chained him into silence. He searched Yuuri’s reddened face for some sort of explanation, some justification, or even a smile that indicated he was playing some sort of cruel joke, but there was nothing to be read in the eyes that wouldn’t meet his. Definitely not a smile.

            “I saw you this afternoon at the arena,” he stammered out, “watching everyone skate, and how excited you got. You… want to be out there again, Victor, and you _deserve_ to be out there again, and you don’t need someone holding you back anymore.”

            The words may as well have gashed him across the chest. Neither had ever talked about what would happen after the season, couldn’t find it in themselves to consider that their time would ever end.

            “You’ve… never held me back,” was all he could manage to say. He had no agency over the tears that fell from his eyes, just as he couldn’t will them to stop. Victor hadn’t even been aware he was crying until the drops hit his collarbone and shocked him out of the deadened silence that had overtaken his thoughts. He wiped still-damp bangs out of his face, trying to look as heartbreaking as possible. Hoping for pity was not a proud tactic, but in the moment, he would have done anything to unhear the words.

            Yuuri clamped his eyes shut, too frustrated for sympathies. “You saw how I did today! I’ve spent all my life thinking I could always get better, and now I’ve had _you_ to myself for a year, and it still wasn’t enough to make me good enough. You wasted your time, okay? So just _go_ _home_ after this _,_ before you waste any more.”

            “Don't say things you don't mean, Yuuri,” The words were cold and closed off, a warning that he chose not to heed.

            “I- _do_ mean it, okay? I don’t want you to sacrifice things for me anymore. You need to go to what makes you happy. You need to go… _be_ Victor Nikiforov again” He said the name with the kind of reverence he hadn’t used since he was a kid.

            But now that Yuuri had finally worked up the nerve to look at his boyfriend, Victor’s expression wasn’t the one he’d been expecting. There was no smile or sigh of relief. Victor didn’t look like someone who’d just been set free, he looked like Yuuri had just thrown away the key to his prison cell. The ice of his eyes had melted, and he seemed vulnerable, more than Yuuri had ever had seen him, or even known he could be, without even considering that all he wore was a post-shower bathrobe. Victor’s tears flowed freely, every one a blemish on his flawless skin. He cautiously reached out to wipe Victor’s face, trying not to worry about how strange it was to _touch_ him, even still, but he never got the chance before Victor sat on the bed and clung to him.

            Yuuri wrapped his arms around Victor’s frame and could feel him shaking his head against his chest. _No_.

            It was true, Victor was forced to admit to himself; today had been the first time in over a year he could almost see himself competing again. The adrenaline had been so palpable that there were times he forgot he _wasn’t_ , that that part of his life was over now, and that he had _chosen_ for it to be over. He’d forgotten at times that he _wanted_ it to be over. The ice had never seemed more familiar, and a part of him yearned to be back.

            Yet familiarity wasn’t enough anymore, not now that he had a home, not just the vacant apartment Yuuri demanded he return to, but the _feeling_ of home for the first real time, and making a comeback was the one thing guaranteed to tear him away from it. It was the rest of _being_ _Victor Nikiforov_ that drained him, that would drain anyone. It was the glued-on smile and the 25-hour days, and the nagging, haunting fear that he was only as good as his last performance. Perhaps if the ice was the only part of skating he needed, he’d be tempted, or even consider returning, but it couldn’t make up for the crushing weight that came with it.

            “I don’t _need_ to,” he mocked. “I don’t _want_ to!” He was still crying, but it was harsher now. Any trace of vulnerability was buried again as Victor tightened the iron grip on his towel, less careful with his words. Anger wasn’t a side of him Yuuri often got to see, and he tried to not let the foreignity of that distract him. “I wasn’t watching everyone because I wanted to be out there again - I was just shocked that everyone looked so… _free_.” The tone of his voice was incredulous, as if it was something he couldn’t comprehend. There was almost fear in his expression. “Competitions were never like that for me. The ice was always a battleground. It was something to conquer, so I had to stop enjoying myself until I hated skating at all. I had to be cold and closed-off, and…” His voice broke. “And I didn't even realize how miserable it all had made me until we danced. I can’t go back to _being_ like that again.” He pulled away in frustration, shouting the words up at the ceiling.

            Every instinct Yuuri had developed over the past few months pulled at him to take Victor in his arms, to end whatever silly doubts he was having and try to comfort him. Yet, the mentions of their ill-gotten _dance_ were what stopped him; he wasn’t sure if getting blind drunk the night they’d apparently met was the best or worst thing he’d ever done.

            Usually, of course, it didn’t matter, because he’d only recently found out it happened at all, and never, before tonight, did he know what it meant to Victor.

            He wasn’t used to the feeling that seized him. Victor had never seemed to need him before, only want him, the way a child wanted a toy. But _need_ , need felt so much more concrete, less fleeting than it ever had before. Yet at the same time, it came with its its own set of doubts. For one thing, it was much less personal than the desire he’d grown accustomed to. Victor acted like Yuuri had singlehandedly flown down from the sky and saved him from the deepest pits of purgatory, and maybe if Yuuri was a different type of person, it would have been flattering or even uplifting, but all he could focus on was the buckling weight of that kind of crushing pressure. He could _never_ live up to those expectations.

            "Well, I'm _not_ the person you danced with! And you can't stay just because you want me to turn into him! I... I love you." The words felt foreign on his tongue, and he wished his first time saying them could have been in any tone other than softening defeat. "I don't want to keep disappointing you." He ignored how empty his arms had started to feel by gazing up at the moon hanging over Barcelona. It looked almost identical to how it had the night before, such was the nature of moons, he guessed, and he wished he were living then instead of now. Yesterday he hadn’t had to think past the Final.

            "Why do you get to decide what I want? It be nice if _I_ could decide what that is for once." Victor, not privy to any of these thoughts, was too angry to be swayed.

 _For once_? Yuuri raised an eyebrow. Was he joking? The man had done nothing but act on his own whims from the moment they’d met.

            This expression did not go unnoticed by Victor, who looked over and scowled. “I don’t usually get to do that, at least I never have before. I’ve spent years focused on my _career_ or my _art_.” He sneered the words. “And being with you, I’m finally free of all that, now _I_ get to decide what I do, or what’s good for me, or who I _am,_ and I’m never going to go back.”

            Yuuri was torn now, unused to seeing Victor in such a different, softer light. There was Victor the Artist, the one he’d watched all his life, who inspired the world over and felt familiar to him even through all the surprises. But there was also the Victor across from him, who’d waltzed into his life just months ago as a complete stranger, who’d changed everything he knew in that time. For so long, Yuuri had tried to connect the two, to comprehend how so _much_ could exist within the same person, but he was considering more and more that maybe they couldn’t, at least not in this case. The Victor he’d watched from afar, he was understanding, was not nearly as _real_ as the one trapped far behind that dazzling camera-ready smile. _That_ Victor was facing away from him - pale, shattered, and farther away than ever.

            It occurred to Yuuri slowly that maybe he should try to do something about that, but he hadn’t the slightest idea of how or what to say that could help. Yuuri didn’t know if there was even anything he _could_ do. This was the two of them at their barest, without the pretenses of skating or coaching or _katsudon_ to hide behind, and he had never been good at being this open with someone.

            He resigned to just keeping to himself, trying to ebb his thoughts away from the crying man sitting beside him. If he couldn’t do any good to Victor, maybe he could keep his own emotions in check, lest they grow and mutate into something that might make him lash out, and they sat motionless for longer than they probably should have.

            Yet, his frustration had dulled. Anger, over time, had softened to sadness, and he couldn’t resist taking an occasional glance behind him, wishing he knew what Victor wanted him to say.

            He never looked long enough to catch the times Victor looked back.

            So they sat, arms wrapped around themselves and refusing to meet eyes as an unusual silence crept over that they had both begun to feel. It occurred to both separately that _neither_ of them had a role to play as far as comfort was concerned. The other was not there to “save them from themselves” or anything like that. Their pasts felt up until then almost completely forgotten, like they had been strangers until now, just two people who were lonely and broken and more vulnerable than they'd ever wanted anyone to see.  
            Yuuri looked up again, and this time caught a sliver of Victor’s nervous blue eyes from behind the matted bangs protecting them.  
            The sadness on his face had faded, and he looked afraid now, the same fear Yuuri knew was also in his own expression. Neither could bear going back to being alone.  
            Victor’s voice was quiet. "Do you really want me to leave?"  
            It made Yuuri’s insides twist just to _hear_ , and though he had never actually wanted it, now he couldn't think of anything worse. He shook his head desperately, turning his body to fully face his fiancé, not wanting to see anything but his face.

            The embrace was unlike their usual ones. There was a hesitation that hadn’t been there before, not even when they first met, with both tentative and longing for some presence to lean on. They needed each other now, for what felt like the first time.

            Loose strands of Yuuri’s hair batted at Victor’s cheeks as he shook his head. “Never. I never want you to leave. It's just... so strange to think you'd ever want to stay.” They were pressed so close together that he could feel when Victor’s lips turned up into a smile. “I never knew it was like that for you.” Victor’s life had always seemed so glamorous from the outside; when Yuuri was young, it seemed like a fairytale. Looking at it now, it was a lot easier to see how the magazine spreads and puff news stories on what Victor’s opinion on such-and-such _fashion brand_ was or the sort of _foods_ Victor’s liked were nothing more than empty, lifeless promotions. The same skill and fame that had set him apart from the world had also kept him far away from it.

            “Were you lonely?” Yuuri asked.

            Victor nodded slowly, lowering his gaze towards the floor. Yuuri got the feeling that he had never really admitted it before. He had never been particularly gifted with words or comforts, but he needed to do _something_ instead of just sit there and stare. Victor had spent already spent too much time tonight looking away from him.

            He ran a tentative hand under Victor’s chin, guiding it upward so that his crystal-blue eyes could only see Yuuri and the nervous smile on his face. “Well, I guess you don’t have to worry about that anymore, because I won’t leave…” he promised before the familiar doubts wormed back in, “as long as you don’t.”

            Victor looked like a man seeing sunlight for the first time, and nodded like it was the only way to express how much he wanted, he _needed_ to stay right there. He leaned forward, closing his eyes blissfully as Yuuri’s lips brushed his forehead. This was where he belonged - how had he ever survived otherwise?

            “Yuuri if only you could see things the way I do. As if I could ever leave a face like this.” A slender hand stroked his cheek, and Yuuri bashfully scrunched up. The russet in his eyes was blinding, and Victor hoped he’d never get used to it. His thoughts drifted back to what Yuuri had said earlier about the night they’d met: a night, he’d recently learned, Yuuri had been too drunk to remember.

            “Do you know why I fell in love with the boy from the banquet?” he asked, fondness in his smile. There wasn’t a single reason Yuuri could think of, but he stayed quiet. “Your eyes were bright like stars, and when you danced with me, it was the most fun I’d ever had. _You_ had fun, even though I’d just watched you come in dead last and _obviously_ didn’t want to be there.” Yuuri rolled his eyes despite the blush covering his cheeks. What a time to be reminded of that. “You surprised me. You did that.” Victor poked a slender finger against his chest. “You do that every day. Sure, you were _enchanting_ at that party, but you’ve been just as enchanting ever since, and even more unpredictable. I love _you_ , Yuuri.”

            There was a moment of disbelief that quickly faded into acceptance. If it was anyone else, he would assume they were lying, but he could trust Victor. Even if he tended to exaggerate and grandstand, he had never lied, never _would_ lie. Yuuri clung to him like it was the only way he could stay together, knotting his hands tight in Victor’s robe.

            “I guess I should have said that sooner, huh? I didn’t know it had been bothering you.”

            Now it was Yuuri who cried, and all he could think about was how serene he felt now, calm with the satisfaction that he was, for once, _enough_. Not that idea that he could be or even should be, no, he, right now, was what Victor had wanted.

            “Yuuri, you know that I don't say things I don't mean, don't you?”

            “I do.”

            Victor laced their fingers together, lowering his gaze so that all Yuuri could see were earnest oceans of blue. “You can win tomorrow. I believe that with all my heart.”

            Yuuri wasn’t used to hearing it phrased like that, in such an uncertain way. There was no declarations, no promises that he _would_ win, of _course_ you’ll win that were as transparent as they were belittling. It was a faith that made Yuuri trust himself more than anything else Victor could have said. Everyone who had helped him get there had done what they could, now it was all dependent on him, and where in the past that obligation would have terrified him, it felt like a promise now. _Right now_ , he was good enough to win. Now that he had someone to skate for, the possibility of victory was suddenly very real in his mind as the doubts that so-often clouded his views faded into nothing more than wisps. _Victor believed in him_.

            His nod was full of determination that was starting to almost feel familiar, and he leaned against Victor’s shoulder. “Thank you.”

            Victor wrapped both arms tightly, allowing his lips to linger over Yuuri’s cheek.

            “Of course. Now come on, you should rest up for tomorrow.” He patted the mattress beside him. It wasn’t the first time they’d slept in the same bed, that had been happening on and off for months now, but it had never felt as natural and as _right_ as it did when Yuuri pulled away from the mattress’ edge and laid back, bringing Victor and the covers with him. Their faces were only centimeters apart, tired and smiling, and Yuuri felt the last remnants of the argument’s stress gradually melt away as his fiancé ran light fingers through his hair.

            “Victor, I love you,” he whispered once the lights had been turned down and he’d pulled his glasses off for the night. They’d said it before, during every performance and practice, with every look and gesture, in each touch, but never in words, and Victor never thought hearing what he already knew would mean so much.

            “I love you too, Yuuri.” There was reverence in his tone; it felt like worlds away, hearing them coming from a place of love rather than the anger and fear the earlier evening had held.

            They fell asleep with their hands entwined.

**Author's Note:**

> I've never written Yuri On Ice fic before, so if you liked it or despised it, let me know at either treacherousgnome.tumblr.com or gnomearts.tumblr.com (which I'm gonna try to finally use again). Thanks :D


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